


Ma Moitié

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Era, Louisiana, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Post-War, Sad with a Happy Ending, but i'm a sucker for happy endings, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Gene comes home one day to find Babe in a troubling state, and all he can think is, "No, not his Edward. Not like this. It can't end like this."OR: Gene faces losing his other half and realizes just how much he loves Babe.





	Ma Moitié

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: vague hints at suicide. 
> 
> PTSD is horrible and affects thousands of service men and women (and other trauma victims) every day. No disrespect is meant here. 
> 
> Also, as always, no disrespect is meant to the real life heroes of Easy Company. Any mentions here are based solely on the portrayals of the men in the HBO miniseries, not the actual men themselves.
> 
> Un-beta'd.   
> Hope you enjoy!

When Gene got home, Babe wasn't occupying any of the usual spots where he could be found waiting to greet his Cajun after a long day's work. He wasn't in the righthand rocking chair on the small porch, not curled up on the overstuffed and aged sofa in the living room or sitting at the head of the faded, blue kitchen table. Babe, it seemed, was nowhere to be found.

Dropping his things down on the kitchen counter, Gene called out softly for his _moitié_. "Edward...?"

He strolled slowly through the modest cabin he shared with Babe. The hour was just after six pm, and even as night began to fall, the Louisiana heat was still enough to make Gene sweat. The fading daylight trickling in through parted window curtains, Gene patted around his home in search of his golden boy. "Aye, Heffron, where're you at...?"

The dark haired boy pushed open the door to their bedroom and caught sight of Babe's back. The boy from South Philly was turned away from the door, head tilted down, hands raised. Gene couldn't see what it was that Babe was analyzing so damn intently, but when Babe didn't respond to his continued calling, didn't seem to register Gene's presence, Gene stepped forward and felt his stomach drop.

Dread filled every inch of Gene's body—curled and coiled into and around the very soul of him. _No, not Edward. Not his boy. Not like this._

"Edward-"

His voice sounded choked, strangled, even to his own ears. At the desperate, wrecked sound, Babe jerked. His eyes flashed upward and caught Gene's penetrating stare. "Gene, hey...what's wrong?"

Gene's gaze never wavered from Babe's own. "Give me the gun, Edward."

"What?" Babe asked, absently. His eyes darted downward to the revolver laying across his palms. The red head blinked owlishly as if only then noticing that it was there. "What?" he repeated, grip tightening on the weapon as he glanced back at Gene. "What do you... oh, god, Gene, no—I wasn't— _here_."

He thrusted the gun toward Gene. The dark haired man took the revolver in his steady grip, eyes focused on Babe's face. He'd heard stories about soldiers who struggled through the war only to find that they couldn't take being home, either. Rumors about men who had somehow survived only to take their own lives once the war had ended. And Gene couldn't bear it if Edward were to do the same.

Babe watched all of these thoughts play out on Gene's face, and he reached forward to cup the shorter man's cheeks with his long, pale fingers. "Gene," he said, softly. "I was in here putting away the letters from my ma, and I found your old man's gun. It just...caught me by surprise, ya know? I remember you tellin' me it was there, but I ain't held a gun since... It just brought back a lotta memories."

Gene's brow remained furrowed, his shoulders tense, his body tight. He wanted to believe Babe, he did. But the fear that gripped him—the absolute downright terror at the very thought of losing Edward—was stronger than his want.

"Oh, Gene," Babe murmured as he saw a thousand and one miserable thoughts flicker behind Gene's eyes. Babe stroked his thumbs across Gene's cheeks, now lightly tanned from a few months back there in the bayou, and breathed, "Gene, I would never. I couldn't ever do that to you, you hear me? I ain't goin' nowhere."

When Gene finally found the words to speak, the slight tremor in his voice belied his stern expression. "You sure?"

"Of course, Gene." Babe blushed a little as his next words came tumbling out. "I love you, Gene. I would never do that to you."

The Cajun boy was quiet for a moment before he nodded quickly. "Yeah, okay."

He pressed his lips against Babe's once, twice, three times, before he stepped around him to return his father's old revolver to the back of the dresser drawer. When he faced his red head, Gene licked his lips, somewhat nervously, and muttered, "You know I, uh, I love you, too, right? I can't—I can't do this without you, Babe."

Babe gave a small smile. "Of course, I know. S'why you keep me here in the swamp, like havin' me all to yourself."

Though his words were playful, Babe's grip on Gene's skinny, little wrists was serious. The light pressure helped ground Gene, helped him understand. Babe—for all his nightmares about the war and all his guilt about John Julian and Bill Guarnere—was so goddamn in love with Gene that he'd up and left Philly a month after the war ended to follow the Cajun medic to Louisiana. A devout Catholic, Babe had faced eternal damnation and social ostracism to be with Gene without so much as asking for his own shelf in the bathroom in return. No way in hell was he giving that up.

Gene saw the simple truth in the gentle curve of the laugh lines around Babe's mouth and the sharp line of Babe's nose. Babe loved him, and he wasn't going anywhere. Arms looping around Babe's gangly frame, Gene pulled his _moitié_ into a fierce hug. He pressed his cheek against Babe's shoulder, the soft cotton of Babe's shirt tickling his skin, and nosed at Babe's neck and jaw, breathing in the familiar scent of his boy.

Babe returned the embrace just as fervently, whispering countless promises against the shell of Gene's ear and stroking over the Cajun's lower back. He placed a few kisses across Gene's shoulder and cheek. Ran his fingers through the thick, dark tuffs of Gene's hair while Gene held onto him for dear life. The two remained clutched together for several, long moments. Night descended on the bayou around them. And all the while, Babe muttered sweet nothings to Gene.

When they finally broke from one another, it was with intense, knowing looks—looks full of commitment and understanding—that they parted.

Babe squeezed Gene's shoulder. "C'mon, I'll fix us up some dinner."

Gene, still slightly shaken, forced a half-hearted little smirk and managed to mumble, "I don't think so, Heffron. Last thing we need right now's another grease fire."

"Jesus Christ, Gene, that was one fucking time. Let it go already."

"Yeah, alright."

And maybe if that night, when they went to bed with one another, they made love a little slower, a little deeper, well, that was alright, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Ma moitié = my other/better half


End file.
